


Preparations

by AdorableDisaster



Category: Original Work
Genre: Battle Preparations, Bear Spirit, Braids, Game of Thrones-esque, Other, Ratings: PG, Shamanism, Vikings, Vikings-esque, prayers, wenches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:58:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4841576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorableDisaster/pseuds/AdorableDisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friend of mine has long, thick hair and a massive beard.  He inspired this story.  It's just a little something that spilled out of my head, but I'm proud of it, and he loved it, and that's what matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters have names, but some have ranks. Please comment with questions/suggestions. Thank you!

The maidens knelt before their lord, a basket of fine leather cords between them on the black bear rug. It was time.

The thane sat in his elk-hide throne. He did not look down at the women who were kneeling on the thick hide. He'd killed the animal to survive. They'd met in the deep of winter, and each was so hungry it was clear that only one would walk away from the encounter. The bear's lifeblood had sustained the great warrior, and he’d kept the skin and skull; both as trophies and to show his respect for the animal. Its gaping maw roared silently at the petitioners who came to his hall. The farmers and diplomats stood below the dais, staring into the glass eyes of the dead beast. They didn't know that the spirit stared back at them. The bear fell to a worthy foe, and its spirit was willing to watch over the thane who had honored his flesh in the end. 

The women had no concept of the spirit that snuffed gently from behind the throne. Their eyes were only for their lord, resplendent in his armor. It was worn and scarred, but that was what made it glorious. He had survived many battles and trials, some of his own making, but more of his enemies’ designs. It was time to ride to war again. The pack horses stomped the cold from their legs. The steam of their breath froze on their whiskers. The chargers were being saddled now. The cadre would ride out at dawn, and the sun was touching the trees already. The maidens' task was one of the last to be done.

Each girl rose enough to touch the lord's face. Their backs were straight as they started their work. Neither had soft hands, but their touch was tender and gentle as they ran their bone-toothed combs through the thane's hair and beard. Though they were young, they had seen many of their brethren and allies ride to battle, and often watched as fewer returned. They knew the songs of victory and the dirges of defeat. They even knew the songs that were sung as the women stripped the fallen for bloody spoils. It was a gruesome task – combing the fields for enemies with useful gear. There were many reasons they sang; It helped to keep the spirits appeased. It helped to lift the morale of the wandering women. They knew the voices of their Sisters on the field, and if a voice was suddenly missing from the chorus, the others would cease their own work and find the silent singer immediately. A dying man often forgot the laws of violence between the sexes. Every woman carried a blade to cut the spoils from deadweight od the bodies. Sometimes the Sisters dispensed mercy, and other times they offered retribution.

The two before the thane had been spared the killing fields thus far, though their time would come before long. It was a hard life they led.

The lord's hair hung clean and straight now. One girl began to plait the left side, weaving to keep the unruly mane back and out of the warrior's face. The other mimicked her “sister”, tugging sharply as she tucked the locks behind her master's ear. Each tied a braided length with a leather cord after weaving it through the last few inches. There would be no women to perform this task once their thane was gone from the stead. Their work must last as long as the raid did.

One and then the other knelt again. It would not do to bend over to dress their lord's beard. His thoughts could only be for the coming battle now, and not even the best made woman would distract him from his cause. On either side of his legs, each girl settled on her knees and began to comb the length of his beard. The thane was young enough that only a bit of grey flowed across his chin. No one knew if he would live long enough to wear a silver collar. Few true warriors did, and even fewer of those were respected for it.

The combs were not made for comfort. More than once a tooth caught on a snarl of hair, and it was tugged without ceremony by the woman who found it. Any pain he felt was not shown on the lord’s face. This treatment was a blessing to the thane. It was meditative, and he reveled in the feel of the women's hands on his chin, their bodies bumping against his legs and arms, and their soft breath that occasionally tickling his face. His mind was on the battle of course, but he could not help consider the spoils of war. He wondered which of them, if not both, would warm his bed when he returned.

Once the thick fur of his beard was untangled to their satisfaction, the maids began again to plait the hair into reasonable sections. They bound these also with the leather cords, and the smell of the cured hides stuck to their fingers. The women knew each others' minds and made their work to match. Slowly, his unruly mass was contained. The last braid along his jaw was tied off just as the sun spilled into the great hall's windows. They had timed their work well. 

For the first time since they began their preparations, the lord moved. He looked down at each girl and met her gaze. One had eyes the color of the summer sky over a wheat field. The other's eyes were the shade of a fresh mug of ale, once the rich foam had been drawn off in a satisfying gulp. Though he wanted to do more, the thane simply nodded his thanks. Each girl lowered her gaze, and he saw the pretty blush that spread across the amber eyed one's cheeks. Perhaps he would call on her first when he returned.

The maids gathered their basin, now empty of leather, and stole away to stand against the wall. They leaned against each other for support, but said nothing.

An ancient man stepped out from a dark doorway. The sounds of prayer and chanting could be heard behind him, before the door closed with a loud slam. The elder leaned heavily on a gnarled stick. The thick smell of his sacred incense clung to his rough-spun robes. It followed him, leaving a trail that was almost visible in the clean morning air. His bare feet made no sound on the flagstone of the hall. 

In his free hand, he carried a heavy wooden case. His progress was slow, and by the time he reached the thane, the doors of the great hall had been opened, allowing the light to pour in. Now the small assembly could hear the snorting of horses and men shouting orders. A few carls stepped to the doorway, but when they saw the priest making his way toward the back of the throne, any questions or protests died in their throats. The raid could not begin without this.

One or two of the men gave the girls an approving nod. Their lord was appropriately adorned, and they knew the women took pride in their work.

The Ancient was behind the throne now. He set down the case on a small platform that none of the men could see. Ceremony was not meant to be understood by the masses. The sound of the wooden box being released onto the table seemed to wake the bear spirit than until now had been resting so comfortably behind the throne. It was winter after all, and habits learned from years of life are hard to resist, even in death. The spirit stirred, and the old priest waited. With a groan that none could hear, save for the deaf mystic's ears, the bear spirit rose on his hind legs. His great black paws came down on either side of the antlered throne, and the elder muttered his thanks for the aid. The walking stick was rested against the back of the chair, and the ancient man reached into the case with shaking hands. He lifted out a thick circlet, made from the only gold that the stead possessed. The metal bore small watermarks from the blessing it had received just minutes before. The smell of incense was rekindled, and the spirit bear wrinkled its massive nose. 

While his arms trembled with the palsy of age, the priest lifted the crown high. Dawn's light struck it with a blessing so bright that the men at the door had to turn away. The bear grunted, and the old man smiled. Between the paws of the watchful spirit, the thane sat tall. He knew what was coming. He had been waiting for it since they'd received the call to war.

The bear leaned into the priest and covered the elder with his intangible weight. In that instant, the man's hands stopped shaking and his back straightened. He took in the strength that the bear offered, and used it to crown his lord. The metal seemed warm, pulsing, almost alive. It settled on to the thane's head, pressing the tight braids even tighter against his skull. It was a good fit.

Against the wall, out of the spotlight, the women held each other's hands. They watched the old priest turn and shuffle quietly back towards the mystic's hall, once again leaning on his stick. They watched the thane rise from his throne, and clasp his heavy riding cloak about his shoulders. It bore the skins of many creatures, and they could see his lips move in prayer to each of their spirits. Though they could not see it, the bear spirit's ears did twitch when it heard its people's name come from the warrior's lips. It padded silently around to the front of the dais, and took up its place on the skin that once contained it. The spirit bear would guard the hall while the lord was away – the old priest had seen to that.

Unbeknownst to him, the thane passed through the spirit of his long-dead guardian as he stepped away from his throne and down the stone steps. He may have felt a familiar power, but he was no mystic, and so had little communion with spirits. The women wondered why the old priest smiled before he shut the door to his halls. They knew better than to ask.

The thane crossed the distance to his waiting men with eager strides. He was ready. They parted for him, then fell into step behind him. A page held his horse, and despite his cloak and armor, the lord swung up in to the massive saddle easily. He was ready. Another page ran across the frozen courtyard and offered up a wooden shield. The thane accepted it with a smile that the boy would remember forever. He was ready. The ornate steel axe was strapped to his side - a spoil he’d earned several summers ago. It had been the weapon that felled the bear, and he was grateful to have it at his side still. Not all were so lucky. 

The trees were beginning to ache as the sun melted last night's snow. The warrior looked up at the sky, and thought of the maiden's eyes. She did not blush under his attention. Perhaps he'd call for her first when he returned. Then again, perhaps he'd call for both. 

He was ready.

He took in a lung full of frigid morning air and let loose a roar that shook the roosting crows from their branches. His army's reply of eager voices and banging shields set the horses to nervous sidestepping. The thane took up the reins and smiled. They were ready. He touched his boots to his mount's flanks, and the hardened beast sprang to life. He led the charge out of the stead, pounding hooves and shouting voices following in his wake. Adrenaline coursed through the veins of every animal in the army, as though the sun itself poured into them. The stead rode out to war... and they were ready.


End file.
